


the storm before the calm

by youmeandem



Category: Fifth Harmony (Band)
Genre: F/F, but you don't need to read it first, this is based on the book the 5th wave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5657518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youmeandem/pseuds/youmeandem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aliens have landed on Earth, and their intention to wipe out humanity is, unfortunately, going really well. So far, the first four steps of their plan have been executed: the first wave took out all electronics, causing half a million deaths through car and plane crashes alone. The second wave took out another three billion people with an enormous, well, wave, that hit the world's coastlines. In the third wave, 97% of the survivors were killed by a deadly virus. In the fourth wave, it became clear that, sometimes, humans are actually controlled by aliens that will shoot you at first sight. The result? No one can be trusted, and the only thing those who are still fighting for survival can do is wait for the fifth wave to hit.</p><p><i>or</i>; the one where camila and lauren try to survive an apocalypse</p>
            </blockquote>





	the storm before the calm

_Crack_.

Camila’s eyes fly open, and she reaches for her gun, wide awake in an instant. She hadn’t been asleep for long, and her body is always on full alert these days—even when it’s supposed to be resting.

With her gun in one hand and her teeth biting down into the other to keep herself from making any noise, she stays frozen in her spot. It’s quiet for a moment, until whoever is on the other side of the clearing moves again. 

Camila holds her breath and listens to the footsteps approaching her, her lungs burning. She leans her head back against the tree and tightens her grip on the gun, even though it won’t be much of a help—she already wasted her last ammo on a rabbit that got blown to pieces by the impact. Too close.

A bullet clicks into place somewhere behind her, followed by a low voice. “Drop your weapons and show yourself.”

The voice is female. Camila’s heart is in her throat. She hasn’t encountered another person in weeks, maybe even months, let alone a girl. And hearing a human voice is almost enthralling. Getting to see who it belongs to is almost worth her life. Almost.

She doesn’t move. Feelings are a luxury she can’t afford anymore.

“I said, show yourself,” the girl says, voice still low. Still shaking. “That tree won’t protect you if I decide to shower it with bullets.”

Camila’s mouth twitches. It doesn’t matter. She’ll die either way.

“Don’t shoot,” she says, gripping the handle of her gun with both hands. With a swift movement she steps out of hiding and raises the gun at the girl in front of her.

A moment passes. Camila doesn’t take her eyes off the girl, and the girl doesn’t take her eyes off of Camila. 

She doesn’t shoot.

“Drop your weapon,” she repeats. Her hands are shaking. “Now.”

Camila blinks. “I’m human.”

“Everyone claims to be human, and then you end up with a bullet between your eyes or a knife between your ribs.”

Damn. Camila briefly wonders if this girl is speaking from experience. She wonders about her past. But, “I swear I’m human.”

An empty laugh. “Drop your gun and I’ll consider believing you.”

“If I drop my gun you’ll shoot me,” Camila says. She puts her finger on the trigger, hoping she can pull off the bluff. Because right now, it’s the only thing keeping her alive. If this girl figures out that Camila’s gun is empty, she won’t hesitate to shoot her—and Camila doesn’t want to die yet. (She thinks she does sometimes, but dying at the hand of another survivor somehow seems almost crueler than dying in the inevitable fifth wave.)

“I’ll shoot you if you don’t.”

Camila considers this. She allows her gaze to flicker up and down the girl’s body. Under the layer of dirt and blood, she’s almost as skinny as Camila. Almost just as short, too. Camila could probably take her.

She looks up. Bright eyes stare back at her with a hardened look and something that looks a lot like wanting to give up.

Camila wonders, briefly, if this girl will really mind if she manages to kill her, somehow. If she’ll really put up a fight to stay alive.

It’s a split second decision, one that could kill Camila if she hesitates.

One moment she’s holding her gun, and the next she’s lunging forward, crashing her body into the stranger’s and knocking them both to the ground. Camila’s fist collides with the girl’s cheekbone with more force than necessary, and she uses the advantage of the other girl’s shock to press her hands down to the girl’s throat.

Green eyes widen in shock, and something that looks a lot like acceptance flashes across the girl’s face. It passes, and then two hands grip at Camila’s wrist, and Camila has to bring her knee down into the girl’s stomach to still her.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” Camila says, pushing down until the girl underneath her starts nodding frantically. 

And Camila knows she should end it right now. If she wants to see the sunrise tomorrow morning, she’ll have to keep pressing and make sure this stranger won’t.

But despite all the layers of pain and anger and fear, despite all she’s been through, she’s still Camila Cabello. So she lets go.

She scrambles to her feet and reaches down to grab the girl’s gun from where it fell between the leaves. She takes her own gun, too, because even though it’s empty she has to keep up her facade of being dangerous, and points the first at the girl. “Are you human or Other?”

“Human,” the girl chokes out, still on the ground. Camila can see the red mark her hand left on the skin of her throat, and her voice is even hoarser than before. “I swear.”

Camila flicks her wrist, testing the weight of the gun in her hand. It’s heavier than her own, and she has no plans of using it, but it does make the girl jump a little, and Camila finds she likes being in power for once. “Considering the fact you could’ve killed me but didn’t, I’ll believe you for now. But I’m keeping this, just in case.”

“I could take you,” the girl grumbles, but there’s still fear in her eyes, and her arms are wrapped around her stomach where Camila had kneed her.

Camila looks at her. She feels a flare of pride in her chest at the knowledge  _she_  did this, but there’s also something sad about it. Old Camila would have never intentionally hurt someone. Then again, Old Camila would have never had to fight for her life in the first place.

“What’s your name?” she asks, mostly because she needs to humanize this girl before she ends up shooting her after all.

“Lauren,” Lauren coughs. “Yours?”

“Camila.”

“I think you broke my ribs,  _Camila_.”

“At least neither of us is dead,” Camila shrugs. “We’ll take a look at your ribs later. First we have to keep moving. I’d rather not stay in the same place for longer than necessary.”

When Lauren doesn’t move, Camila makes it a point to try not to care too much. She pushes away the nagging feeling that she should make sure Lauren is okay after leaving her battered and bruised, because she’s not supposed to care about other people. It’s the one way to get yourself killed. She’s seen it happen too many times before. She doesn’t want to be  _that_ girl—the one who gets killed because she let feelings get in the way of survival.

She takes her backpack and swings it over her shoulder, Lauren’s gun still in her hand. She has no specific destination, she just wants to get out of here. Stay in one place too long and you’ll eventually end up dead, she’s learned, and Camila has about zero interest in ending up dead.

Resisting the urge to look over her shoulder to where Lauren scrambled to her feet, hunched over like she’s going to throw up, Camila walks away.

She zigzags between the trees of the forest she’s been trying to get out of for days now. Every few steps she stops and listens, trying to detect signs of life. Life means either food or enemies, and now that she has a working gun again she doesn’t have to be as afraid anymore.

She’s been walking for less than thirty minutes when she hears footsteps again, and when she spins around, the barrel of the gun is once again pointed at Lauren’s forehead.

“You have my gun,” Lauren says, taking slow steps forward. She, too, has a backpack, but her hands are empty, and she winces with every step she takes. “I won’t survive the night without my gun.”

“I know.” Camila almost smirks, but something’s holding her back. Maybe it’s the fact that Lauren is still clutching at her ribs, or the hoarseness of her voice, but Camila almost feels guilty. Part of her thinks she didn’t have to hurt Lauren that much. A bigger part of her knows that if she hadn’t she’d probably be lying dead on the ground and Lauren would be the one going on her way now.

Lauren sighs. “I’m not getting my gun back, am I?”

“Nope.”

Lauren’s face hardens, and she straightens her shoulders a little. “I believe you. You’re too annoying to be an Other.”

This time Camila does smirk.

 

By the time they finally make it out of the woods, it’s almost nightfall.

Camila’s stomach rumbles—she hasn’t eaten in days. The fact that she’s still out here, walking around like she isn’t supposed to be dead, is a miracle on its own.

The highway is completely deserted, and Camila steps onto the asphalt with a sigh. She hates when she has to cross things that remind her of humanity, because humanity means humans, and humans means bodies.

They’re everywhere. There’s bodies in broken down cars in the middle of the road, seatbelts still spanning across their exposed ribcages. They’re in piles a few feet off the road, where they rot in the sun until even animals won’t touch them anymore. They’re even just in the middle of the street, robbed of clothes and anything that could be considered remotely valuable.

“Don’t stay too far behind,” Camila says, not even trying to hide her disgust at the smell of, well, death. “We’re in the open and we can easily be spotted here. I can’t protect you if you’re miles away.”

“You wouldn’t have to if you just gave me my gun back,” Lauren shoots back.

Camila doesn’t reply. They’ve been having this conversation since they inexplicitly decided to stick together, because it’s the only thing relevant enough to talk about. When most of the world’s population is dead, small talk just disappears; no one wants to know about the weather, and everyone is doing shit. End of conversation.

“It’s getting dark. We should find a place to stay until the morning.” Camila thumbs the safety catch on the gun, making sure it’s still in place. “And maybe find something to eat.”

Lauren stumbles, her face even paler than before. Camila turns around and, for the first time that day, waits for Lauren to catch up. She doesn’t miss the gritting of teeth and the thin layer of sweat on Lauren’s brow. Lauren is in pain, and she won’t make it much further.

Camila hesitates, and then slips her arm around Lauren’s waist. “If you try to take my gun I’ll blow your head off.”

“ _My_  gun,” Lauren says, but she puts her arm around Camila’s shoulders and leans into her anyway, heavier than Camila expected. 

They make it another mile, but it’s slow. Lauren has to pause after every few steps, and Camila’s empty stomach is starting to take its toll on her strength. The extra burden of Lauren’s weight doesn’t help much either.

“I think I see a side road over there,” Camila says, pointing at something a few yards away. It’s getting dark quickly now, and she has to squint to see anything farther away than two feet. “There’s a clearing in the trees at least.”

Lauren doesn’t really say anything. She takes a few heavy steps and almost crumbles to the ground, so Camila tightens her grip on her waist again. None of this is ideal, and it sort of makes her wish that she’d just killed Lauren this morning. But she knows Lauren’s name now, and if she kills her, it’ll haunt her forever.

They somehow manage to make it to the clearing. Camila almost smiles when she realizes it’s not just a side road—it’s a driveway to an actual house. A dark and somewhat scary house, but a house nonetheless. And they’re in such a deserted place that there might still be some untouched food inside.

“Come on, Lo. Just a few more steps,” she says, but just as the words leave her mouth, Lauren’s eyes roll to the back of her head and her knees give out.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Camila buckles and struggles under the sudden extra weight, putting the barrel of the gun against Lauren’s temple. “Wake up, you shithead.”

It works, either because the gun is cold against her skin or out of some innate sense of survival. Lauren’s eyes flutter back open and she regains some of her footing. “Just shoot me already.”

“No,” Camila says. “I didn’t drag your ass all the way over here to kill you. Come on, pretend like there’s a warm bath waiting for you, or something.”

Lauren takes a breath. She’s so pale she already looks half dead, and Camila isn’t sure they’re even going to make it across the driveway without Lauren passing out for real this time. 

They take the smallest of steps, and at one point Camila has to literally drag Lauren a few feet forward, but eventually they make it to the front door. Lauren unwraps herself from Camila and sinks to the ground with her back against the door. 

“Stay here. I’m going to look for a way in,” Camila says. She doesn’t hesitate before giving Lauren her empty gun. If Lauren believed it was loaded, other people might as well. Camila just hopes it won’t come to that. 

She makes her way around the house without finding any open windows or unlocked doors. When she comes back, Lauren is still slumped against the front door, but her eyes are open this time—and angry.

“Your fucking gun is empty,” Lauren says. “You beat me with an empty gun.”

“Hunters and gatherers didn’t have guns and they managed to build entire societies. I’m just better than you at this whole survival thing.” Camila puts her hand against the wooden door. “We might have to breach this thing, or break a window.”

Lauren stares at her for a moment, like she can’t believe Camila just brushed it off like that. For a moment, Camila thinks she’s going to argue, but then she sighs. “Break a window. If we breach the door it won’t close anymore, and a broken window is less inviting than a broken door.”

Camila considers this, then nods. She looks around for something that’s heavy enough to break a window. There’s a decently sized rock that could probably smash in someone’s head. It’ll definitely smash a piece of glass.

“Cover your head,” she says, waiting until Lauren does so before throwing the rock through the window. She flinches at the loud shattering of the glass, knowing that if anyone is around they will definitely hear it as well. 

She uses another rock to break away the sharp edges of the broken window to make it a little safer to climb through. Then she reaches out her hand. “Come on, I’ll help you through.”

Lauren doesn’t move. “I’m not sure I can climb through a window right now.”

“You have to. You’ll die if you don’t.”

Anger flashes over Lauren’s face. “You had no problem with that this morning.”

“And yet you’re still here,” Camila retorts. “But if you want to die out here that’s fine by me. Just know that an empty gun won’t do you much good against the Others.”

“No, just against idiots like me.” Lauren grits her teeth and scrambles to her feet. Her knees give out almost immediately and her face contorts with pain, but Camila is quick to catch her. She’s fully aware of the fact that with both her arms around Lauren, Lauren’s hands are completely free to grab the gun in her belt.

But Lauren doesn’t reach for the gun. She just curses a lot while Camila pushes her through the broken window. It’s a struggle, because Lauren is basically a dead weight and Camila still hasn’t eaten, but somehow they manage. A soft thud, followed by a low groan, tells her that Lauren is on the floor of whatever room they just broke into.

“Fuck, there’s glass everywhere,” Lauren says from inside. “I’m seriously starting to rethink this whole ‘Let’s break a window instead of a door’ thing.”

Camila rolls her eyes. She starts to climb through the window and almost makes it through unscathed, but then her knee scrapes over a sharp piece of glass and causes pain to flare up her leg. 

“Fuck,” she hisses, already feeling the blood running down her leg. She shoves the broken pieces of glass aside with her foot as she lands inside, wiping up the blood from her leg with her hand. The cut isn’t very deep, but it’s painful enough to make her sort of limp towards where she thinks Lauren is sitting on a chair.

But then, “Where the fuck are you going?” comes from behind her.

Camila squints. It’s almost completely dark by now, but there’s definitely a person sitting in the chair. It’s not Lauren.

“I think there’s dead people in this house,” Camila says. “One of them is sitting over there.”

“There’s dead people everywhere.” Lauren managed to push herself to her feet, and she staggers a little closer to the body. Camila figures Lauren’s eyesight must be better than her own, because Lauren doesn’t seem to need to lean in closer to take a look at the body.

“This one is a woman, I think. Men usually don’t have long hair and wear shirts with floral prints on them, unless they’re from Hawaii. But Hawaii is wiped off the surface of the Earth, so I’m guessing this is just a dead woman.”

“I really don’t want to know,” Camila says. “We can take care of these people tomorrow. Like, discard their bodies or something. But first I need to sleep and eat and make sure you don’t die on me in the middle of the night.”

Lauren doesn’t reply. She just stares at the dead woman for a moment before turning around. “I don’t think I can stay in a house where the previous owners are sitting dead in a chair, Camila.”

“You can’t go outside either. It’s this house or... I don’t know. There is no other option.”

A moment of silence passes.

“I fucking hate aliens,” Lauren sighs. “Let’s go find some food.”

It’s a slow search. First they have to find the kitchen—and take at least two breaks in which either Lauren or Camila has to sit down and remember how to breathe for a minute or two—and then they open every cabinet in hopes of finding something edible.

There’s not much. Some dry crackers, half of a really moldy loaf of bread, and some spoiled meat in a fridge that hasn’t worked since the first wave. But there’s also a bunch of canned food and a few bottles of water, so it’ll do for now.

“You know water can expire, right? The plastic, like, erodes after some time, and the bacteria all just gather inside,” Lauren says, sitting down on the kitchen floor with a pack of crackers in her hands.

Camila stares at her. “Okay,” she says slowly, then uncaps the bottle of water she’s holding and takes a sip.

They eat half of the crackers as well as a can of uncooked and really gross food each, draining at least a gallon of water between the two of them. It’s not the best meal, but for someone who’s been starving for the past whatever-how-many days, it’s a feast.

After dinner they try to explore the house a little more, but it’s too dark to really see anything, not to mention Lauren’s still too hurt and Camila really just wants to sleep. So they grab pillows from the living room couch—the dead woman is in the living room and they don’t want to share a room with her—and towels from a cabinet in the bathroom to use as makeshift blankets and mattresses, and make some uncomfortable beds on the kitchen floor instead.

At least it’s better than sleeping sitting up against a tree, Camila decides. It’s still cold, and the floor is too hard to ever be comfortable, but there’s a roof above her head and her nearly full stomach is a comfort she wouldn’t trade.

She wraps both hands around Lauren’s gun, holding it close enough that she’d definitely wake up if Lauren tried to take it away from her during the night. “If you pull any funny business like die or try to kill me, I’ll have to shoot you.”

Lauren huffs from where she’s lying a few feet away in her own pillow and towel bed. “You’re the one with the loaded gun. If I die tonight, it’ll be entirely on you.”

And Camila’s not really sure whether that’s meant to be comforting, but she really hopes she won’t be the only living being in this house when she wakes up tomorrow morning.

 

The first thing Camila does when she wakes up is reach for her gun. Her fingers wrap around metal that’s heavier than she’s used to, and for half a second she’s confused. Then she remembers everything; Lauren, the house, the people.

Part of her is genuinely surprised that Lauren didn’t kill her. Then again, she didn’t kill Lauren either. She didn’t even think of hurting Lauren again. But she doesn’t entirely trust her, either. It’s not that Lauren gave her any reason not to, it’s just that once you run into a few Others disguised as humans, you stop trusting people in general.

Camila’s entire body hurts from sleeping on the floor, but by now she’s used to feeling sore when she wakes up. At least she got a decent night of sleep, and her stomach is still half satisfied from their meal yesterday.

There’s light peering through the windows. For the first time, Camila gets a good look at the house she’s in. The kitchen floor is littered with everything edible they could find yesterday, and Lauren is a few feet away from her, still asleep. Camila stares at her intently for a few moments, until she sees Lauren’s chest rise and fall. At least Lauren didn’t randomly decide to die.

Camila gets out of her makeshift bed and stretches. Her knee is still sore, and the cut on it burns a little when she bends it, but other than that her body is back in decent shape. And, judging by the dark marks still clearly visible on Lauren’s throat, in much better shape than Lauren’s.

Lauren looks almost peaceful. She’s curled up in a ball and most of her hair is in her face. The towels have mostly fallen off of her body, but the chill in the air is gone, and Camila values her life, so she doesn’t try to put them back on. But, most importantly, Lauren looks relaxed. Like, there’s never a completely relaxed moment anymore, but this is the closest Camila’s seen anyone be after the Others arrived and rudely announced the end of the human race.

Camila watches Lauren sleep until she realizes how  _creepy_  that is. She grabs a leftover cracker and heads out towards the living room. Now that there’s daylight, the dead woman is a lot less scary. She’s not as decomposed as some of the ones on the street, and even though she does smell bad and parts of her skin are starting to go black, she could almost sort of look like she’s asleep.

Camila tries to ignore the fact that she’s touching a dead human as she starts hauling her towards the front door. It’s heavy and the body keeps getting stuck behind corners, but eventually she manages to pull her into the hallway. She doesn’t open the door yet—it might draw attention. And, considering that there might be more bodies in the house, it’s best to only open the door once.

After exploring the entire ground floor and finding nothing worthwhile, Camila goes upstairs. There’s three bedrooms and two bathrooms, and it’s in one of the bedrooms that she finds the second body—a child; a victim of the third wave. 

She doesn’t touch it. She doesn’t even go near it. Even if the child’s been dead since the third wave, Camila doesn’t dare risking it. If the virus can claim the lives of ninety seven percent of the people that survived the first two waves, Camila is not going to touch that child. Not even if she’s supposedly immune.

The bedroom does give her an idea, though. She goes back downstairs and grabs the woman’s body to pull it up the stairs. It’s a lot harder than dragging her over a flat floor, and Camila’s sweating and her heart is nearly beating out of her chest by the time she’s halfway through. She’s determined, though, and she doesn’t stop until both bodies are stuffed into the same bedroom.

When she steps back into the kitchen nearly thirty minutes later, Lauren’s awake and sitting up against the cabinets, eating something out of a can. “Hey, where did you go? I thought you might’ve been kidnapped by aliens overnight.”

Camila flips her off. “Not funny. I went to clean up the mess. Don’t open the door on the left side of the stairs. There’s bodies in there that might contain the virus.”

Lauren’s eyes widen. “There’s more people?”

“Just one. A child. I think it was a boy, but I’m not sure. I didn’t really go inside to check it out.”

“Fuck,” Lauren breathes. She shoves away the can. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

Camila gives her a sad smile, then takes the can. Lauren only finished half of it, and she’s not going to waste perfectly good… whatever this is. The important thing is that it’s food. ”How are you feeling?”

“Like someone beat me up and almost choked me to death yesterday,” Lauren replies. “I still think my ribs are broken.”

Camila rolls her eyes. “Don’t exaggerate, I didn’t hear or feel a crack. They’re probably just bruised or something.”

“Just bruised,” Lauren huffs. “I need this body to live. It’s not like I can get a new one when this one is worn out.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Camila says. She swallows the last of the food and puts the empty can on the pile of trash they created in the corner of the kitchen. “But now that it’s light enough, we should probably take a look at that broken body of yours.”

Lauren glares at her. “What do you want to do about it? Even if it is broken, it’s not like you can actually heal me back or something.”

“No, but I can gloat about having broken someone’s ribs.” Camila kneels next to Lauren. “Take off your shirt.”

Lauren stares at her like she wants to crack a joke, but then she just does what Camila asks. Camila tries not to stare at the red bra Lauren is wearing, focusing on the bruising on her ribs instead. There’s some deep purple spots where Camila’s knee dug into Lauren’s stomach.

“Can I…?” Camila asks, fingertips hovering over the bruising.

Lauren grits her teeth, nodding. “Be careful, though.”

“Always,” Camila says mockingly, but she tries to be as gentle as possible when she runs her fingertips over Lauren’s stomach. “Does it hurt if you breathe?”

“Yup.”

“What about if I press here?”

Lauren shoves Camila back by her shoulder. “Fuck off. You already hurt me enough, no need to do it again.”

“Your ribs aren’t broken,” Camila says. “I didn’t feel anything that felt like a fracture. It’ll still suck for a while, though, especially when you have to walk a lot or, like, breathe.”

“Thanks a lot,” Lauren sighs. “If you’d just shot me it would’ve been a lot easier.”

Camila’s mouth twitches. “You would also be dead.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Lauren looks away, and suddenly Camila’s chest feels tight. She gets up.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea to leave this place with your condition. You’d probably only end up hurting more, like last night.” She stares at Lauren’s still exposed ribs, hoping she’s right in her diagnosis. “And this seems a somewhat solid base to stay for a while, aside from the dead bodies stowed away in that one bedroom. We’re near the woods, too, so there might be some animals we can hunt for food when we run out of canned stuff.”

“Fine by me,” Lauren says. She looks up at Camila with an unreadable expression in her eyes. “But you don’t have to stay with me. You said it yourself, it’s dangerous to stay in the same place for a long time. You can walk. You can have my gun, since yours is out of ammo. You can leave and forget that I ever existed...” Her voice trails off for a moment. “I heard there’s a camp somewhere that trains people to be soldiers against the Others. It’s called Camp Haven or something. I was on my way there before I ran into you. Might be something you could be interested in.”

Camila sits back down and locks eyes with Lauren. There’s something heartbreaking about how easily Lauren is willing to give up her chance at a better life for that of someone who beat her up. Someone who put her in this position in the first place. But, deep down, Camila understands. It would be a lot easier to just give up. To accept the fact that this world, the one that’s barely hanging on by just a thread, is your last reality.

She reaches over and takes Lauren’s hand. “I’m not leaving you. I’m the one who put you in this position, and I’m getting you out of it. We’ll find that camp together, and then we’ll become kick ass soldiers who kick alien ass.” She pauses. ”Together.”

“Okay,” Lauren says, with the hint of a smile on her lips. And, for the first time since they met, her eyes are a lighter shade of green.

Camila nods and squeezes Lauren’s hand. “But first things first. Let’s get you off of this kitchen floor. Do you think you can walk up the stairs? There’s some actual beds upstairs.”

 

Camila finds a certain kind of peace over the next couple of days. 

For the first time since the first wave hit, she doesn’t have to spend her days with a grumbling stomach and socks that won’t dry because she doesn’t have anywhere to put them, and she actually has a bed she can sleep in again.

They find themselves developing a routine, though it starts off as nothing more than agreeing on guard duty rotations. They end up settling into the bedroom Lauren first used—Camila checked the other one and found that the window facing the clearing wasn’t the best of ideas. Too open. Too visible. They never really discuss sharing a bedroom, just like they never discuss the door that remains permanently closed down the hallway.

For the first few days, Lauren isn’t of much help for anything more than waking Camila up if something comes up. She’s restless at first, like Camila, from being in one spot for too long, but soon her need for the rest she must not have had in ages takes over, and she spends much of her time sleeping off her injuries. Camila wakes her sometimes, carefully, to get her to eat the canned food she’s found goes down much more easily if she mixes it with boiled water—the added bonus is that it also lasts longer.

Every day, before nightfall, Camila takes the gun and slips out of the house to try and hunt in the woods around the house. They have a small argument over the risk of Lauren staying in without anything to defend herself, before coming to the conclusion that food is a necessity at this point, but Camila still makes sure not to stray too far from home. Just in case.

By the end of the first week, Camila starts to relax. She doesn’t really think anyone will come by anymore, and she’s pretty sure Lauren agrees. She starts going further into the woods when hunting, which helps her odds of success, and doesn’t worry as much about the loudness of her gunshots when she is indeed successful in her search anymore. Ammo is sparse, though, so she only shoots something when she’s absolutely certain she’ll be bringing home some game.

The fact that they’re more at ease than before doesn’t change their situation, however. They’re still careful, never keeping a fire lit through the night or doing anything else that could attract unwanted attention.

During the day they bundle up in all the towels and blankets they could find in order to keep warm. At night, they bundle up together in bed and cuddle for the shared body heat. 

It turns out that Lauren is actually a really nice person—after the first couple of days of irritable objection to everything Camila goes to do, that is. 

She does still complain incessantly about what Camila does during the day, be it letting Lauren sleep longer than they’d agreed or hanging her socks somewhere objectionable. But no matter how much she complains, every time Camila returns from hunting, she’ll be waiting for her, and gets this relieved look on her face regardless of whether or not Camila’s come empty handed.

Every night she lets Camila wrap her arms around her waist and hold her close, and every night she relaxes in her embrace.

Not being alone is different. They haven’t had someone in so long, that it takes rediscovering what it’s like to have another person there. Someone to think of beyond the past tense. Someone to talk to. Someone to care about.

Talking starts off slowly. When you’re alone and tense, aware of every sound you make lest it be your last, a particular kind of loneliness takes over. Every thought becomes too loud, and yet not loud enough. Before, Camila sometimes found herself whispering to herself just so she could have someone to listen to.

Now, though there’s a pair of eyes and a set of ears that pay attention when she talks. There’s a voice that’s not her own—lower and huskier, slower in the pauses between words—to listen to and engage with.

The end up telling each other about their lives before the first wave. Hesitantly at first, and then all at once.

Lauren tells Camila about her parents, her brother and sister. She talks about how her brother was the only one to make it through the first three waves, only to get killed by a gunshot wound to the chest in the fourth. Camila tells Lauren about her own parents, about Sofi, and about how none of them even made it past the second wave. They were in Miami when the tsunami hit, and the only reason Camila survived was because she was visiting friends at a college in North Florida.

Camila also tells Lauren about her friends, about how she had to watch every single one of them succumb to the third wave. For the first time since what feels like forever, she allows herself to cry for every single person she’s lost, soaking Lauren’s shirt with her tears. Lauren cries a little, too, but afterwards they silently agree to forget any of it ever happened. Except now Camila knows why Lauren didn’t want to believe her at first, about being human, and Lauren knows why Camila sometimes screams her sister’s name in her sleep.

It’s a lot for one day, and they both stare into the fire for a while before smothering the flames in silence and going to bed. Lauren crawls into Camila’s arms like always, but there’s something different tonight. Camila feels calmer—more at ease. 

And she isn’t sure if that’s a good thing.

 

Camila doesn’t realize how attached she’s grown to Lauren until one day, when she comes home from hunting. They actually found a key for the lock in the front door, so she slips inside after making sure there’s no one around to watch them. 

“Lo? I’m back. Got a rabbit, but it’s sort of torn apart by the bullet.” She trudges into the kitchen and puts the rabbit in the sink, next to an empty can of food. She takes off her jacket and hangs it over one of the kitchen chairs, almost smiling at how  _normal_  it all feels.

But something’s wrong. It’s too quiet.

“Lo? Are you okay?” Camila waits two heartbeats, but when she’s met with more silence, she feels the blood in her veins run cold.

“Lauren?” she tries again. “Where are you?”

No reply.

Camila almost trips on her way upstairs, her feet too slow for how much she wants to check their bedroom to see if Lauren’s in there. She’s not. The bed is empty, and the covers are exactly like they left them that morning.

She checks the bathroom—they have an unspoken rule of never locking any door other than the front door, just in case something happens—but Lauren isn’t there either.

Her eyes fall on the one bedroom they never open, and she takes a step towards it. No. Lauren can’t be in there. She wouldn’t do that.

“Lauren, it’s not funny anymore,” Camila tries one more time, voice shaking. She goes back downstairs, gun drawn, ready to fire a round of bullets into the first person she sees.

But when she rounds the corner, she finds Lauren passed out on the couch. Relief washes over Camila, and she puts her gun away. She sits down on the couch, and puts Lauren’s head on her thigh, like a pillow. She runs her fingers through Lauren’s hair, and smiles when Lauren sighs in her sleep.

It’s not that she really thought Lauren was dead or anything—she just doesn’t want her to be. Within the span of seven days, Lauren became the most important person in Camila’s life, and not just because she’s the only person. Camila can’t lose Lauren. She just can’t.

She ends up falling asleep with her hand in Lauren’s hair, and when she wakes up an hour later, Lauren is looking up at her with a soft smile on her lips.

“Hey,” she says, reaching up to wipe a tear from Camila’s cheek. “Bad dream?”

“The usual,” Camila nods. “You scared me for a bit there. You’re always there when I come home, and this time you weren’t, and—” She stops talking to keep her voice from cracking.

Lauren sits up, pushing a strand of hair out of Camila’s face. Her eyes are kind. Honest. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.”

Camila subconsciously leans into Lauren’s touch. “It’s okay.”

“You’d tell me if it wasn’t, right?”

Camila nods, even though things haven’t been okay for a long time now. Meeting Lauren didn’t change that; it just made the pain a little bit more bearable, and Camila feel a little bit more human.

Lauren’s lips curl up into a smile. “You’re pretty.”

Camila blinks. “Uh—thanks? You’re pretty, too. You’re, like, beautiful.”

Lauren stares at her with an unreadable look eyes. And then she kisses Camila.

Her lips are soft. It feels a lot like when Camila comes back from a hunt with large game and sees Lauren standing in the doorway with that look on her face that says, “ _I’m glad you came back to me_.” That look that almost makes Camila want to leave, just so she can come back and see it again. Kissing Lauren is a lot like that.

Camila tangles her fingers with Lauren’s and smiles into her mouth and breathes in her scent. Her eyes flutter closed, and she doesn’t know whether it’s better than looking into Lauren’s eyes, because Lauren’s eyes are the most beautiful thing in the world.

Kissing Lauren is a lot like entering the eye of a hurricane. Amidst everything that’s going on outside the four walls of the— _their_ —house, there is a moment of peace. Right after you come out of the first nightmare of rain and wind and thunder, and right before it hits you twice as hard from the other side.

Kissing Lauren is the calm before the storm.

It’s nice. Camila wants to kiss Lauren forever.

 

They don’t have forever.

Two weeks after moving into the house, Lauren’s ribs are mostly healed when Camila checks them again, pressing a trail of kisses up and down Lauren’s body, making her writhe between the sheets. It feels sort of inappropriate, having sex in the middle of an alien invasion, but the alien invasion has been going on for a long time now and there is no sign of a fifth wave yet, so sex is sort of the most exciting thing now.

They have another week. Just one week.

When the second week is up, Lauren assures Camila that her ribs are healed and that they can continue their journey to the camp. Camp Safe Haven, or something.

Camila isn’t too convinced, because sometimes Lauren still winces when she gets out of bed or lifts something that’s not really heavy, but she knows they can’t stay here forever, and Lauren  _does_  look a lot better now.

They spend a day or two packing ammo, food, and water into their backpacks, and set out for Camp Haven or Camp Safe Haven or Camp Whatever on the sixteenth day after arriving at the house. Camila sort of wants to throw a tiny funeral for the two people still stuffed into the bedroom upstairs, but she also knows she’s just stalling, so she doesn’t mention any of it to Lauren.

When they leave the house, it’s early in the morning—like, four. It’s still dark enough for them to remain hidden in the shadows, but light enough to be able to see where they’re going.

Lauren has Camila’s old gun, and Camila has Lauren’s gun. They don’t have a lot of ammo left, but if Lauren’s information is right, they won’t need to survive for a very long time on their own anymore, so it doesn’t really matter. 

Their pace is relatively slow compared to what Camila is used to, but it’s much faster than the first day, so the improvement of Lauren’s health is clearly visible. They also hold hands, so the improvement of their relationship is even clearer.

Camila has her gun drawn at all times, mainly because Lauren’s holding a gun that doesn’t have any ammo, and also because she’s pretty sure she’s sort of falling in love with Lauren. Camila can’t lose her. She can, however, protect her, so she’s on high alert all the time.

“Stop being so tense,” Lauren says. “Nothing’s gonna happen. We haven’t seen anyone pass by the house. There’s no one here.”

“Keep your voice down,” Camila replies. “You have to be quieter. When you walk, too. I knew you were coming the first time we met because your footsteps were fucking loud.”

“The first time we met worked out really well, in retrospect,” Lauren continues. She presses a kiss against Camila’s cheek. “Relax. It’ll be fine.”

Camila suppresses a sigh. “I almost miss how you were before. Always on high alert. Annoying the fuck out of me with your supposedly witty comments. At least you paid attention to your surroundings them.”

Lauren is quiet for a moment. “I stayed inside the same house for two weeks. You went out hunting every night.”

“So?”

“I’ve felt safe for two weeks. My only worry was whether you’d come home or not.”

Camila stops walking. “You’re cute. But yes, you’re probably right. Maybe I should beat you up again and take you back to the house so we can feel safe again.”

“Maybe.” Lauren rolls her eyes, but there’s something in the way she does it that makes Camila wonder how serious they both are right now. Like, she doesn’t want to beat Lauren up again, but if it’s the only way to keep her safe, she would definitely consider it.

Camila kisses Lauren on the lips. She wants to be romantic about this, but there’s still the impending danger of being shot or just generally killed by alien invaders, so her eyes wander around first, before settling on Lauren again.

“I love you,” she says. “I can’t lose you.”

Lauren’s smile widens. “I love you, too.”

“Good,” Camila breathes. “I’m glad we established that before we march into our deaths.”

“We’re not going to die,” Lauren says. “Someone would have to be around in order to kill us, and there’s no one.”

Camila clenches her jaw and tightens her grip on Lauren’s hand. She doesn’t object again. Arguing with Lauren may feel like second nature, but it also means making noise, and it’s better to be quiet.

 

The Other is quiet, too. He appears seemingly out of nowhere, his shadow long and threatening. He’s not the first alien Camila has encountered, and her first instinct is to drop everything and  _run_.

Lauren screams, crushing Camila’s hand in fear. Her eyes are wide, exceptionally dark in her pale face. Camila’s pretty sure she’s never seen anyone this scared before.

A voice in the back of her head tells her to run, to protect Lauren, to  _do_  something. But she’s frozen, her hand gripping Lauren’s. It wouldn’t help anyway. He has a much better gun. He doesn’t have a conscience. He’s going to kill them.

For a moment that thought is the only thing Camila hears echoing through her head. He’s going to kill them. He’s going to kill them. He’s going to kill them.

He cocks his head to the side, and a flash of white teeth is the last thing Camila sees before he raises the gun and fires.

The first bullet stops Lauren’s screams.

The second bullet makes Lauren’s hand go limp.

The third bullet makes Camila’s stomach feel like it’s on fire.

The fourth bullet goes straight through her heart.

It doesn’t even hurt anymore. There is a certain peace in dying when the world around you is a mess. Camila doesn’t mind when she’s on her back in the dirt, gasping for air her lungs can’t breathe anymore. She just stares at the blue sky and hopes that death will be the calm after the storm, and that maybe she’ll get to kiss Lauren again.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry. i understand if you all hate me now.
> 
> i wrote this because [my friend](http://archiveofourown.org/users/evincsn) let me read her book while everyone else watched a horror movie and my first thought was: this needs to be a camren au. so here we are. i hope you enjoyed it enough to leave kudos and/or a comment, it would make me and my beta [generalfrings](http://archiveofourown.org/users/generalfrings/pseuds/generalfrings) very happy. don't forget to smile today :)
> 
> [tumblr](http://surrealperfectionn.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/mindoflauren) | [wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/youmeandem)


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